In the Light of This Experience
by desmoiselle-ni-belle
Summary: In which Hermione Granger returns to Hogwarts, Post-War, with the intention of completing her formal education, and in which dead men sit at staff tables. How did this come to pass? And what will each learn from the other? Eventual SS/HG story.
1. Chapter 1 - An Introduction

**In the Light of This Experience**

_"Stand in the ancient ways, but look also into present experience to see whether in the light of this experience ancient ways are right."_  
-Francis Bacon

* * *

**CHAPTER ONE – An Introduction**

_"Never in the field of human conflict was so much owed by so many to so few."_  
-Winston Churchill

The mists that swirled about the grassy lawns of the Hogwarts grounds tickled the narrow ankles of Miss Hermione Granger, War Hero. She had returned at last to where everything began.

Her pace was slow as she approached the towering structure of the school. There was no shadow of her regular determined gait in the way she moved that morning. Instead there was a sense of calm that she didn't quite realize was missing until the school came into view beyond the edge of the forest.

Hogwarts had long been considered home to many, and Hermione was among them. But in all the years she had spent learning and living in those halls she could only remember a few short months at the very beginning when she truly felt safe. And there is something foreboding about feeling unsafe on one's own home. 

Foreboding indeed. Would she have chosen this path if she had known where it would take her? Not yet twenty and she bore the scars, inside and out, of the life of a witch in the midst of wartime.

There was a shudder down her spine at the thought of the other path she might have taken.

No. This was where she belonged. Every house has a basement after all. And what child feels safe alone in a basement, even their own.

The grass and dust gave way beneath her feet to the stone slabs that made up the courtyard leading to the entrance hall. The fountain gurgled as it ever had. _Perhaps the notion of Historic Recurrence is due in part to the efficiency of post disaster renovation. It is as if the conflict never happened_, Hermione thought sadly. _Perhaps if the ruins remained we would remember._ She unconsciously rubbed her forearm and remembered that some ruins remained after all.

After six years of studying with the purpose of gaining the skills necessary to survive, Hermione finally felt that she might be given the opportunity to study for the sake of learning. This was a feeling she vaguely remembered holding deep in her chest as she sat in the little boat that first night as a Hogwarts student. She held onto it now, fiercely, unwaveringly. There was no villain to take it from her now. He lay as ash.

She had one year left, one formal year of learning she had come to complete.

And learn she would.

* * *

**AN:**

Welcome to the introduction to my first fan-fiction submission!

This is intended to be the beginning of quite a long eventual SS/HG romance. It is my intention to upload weekly, and as the first ten chapters have been roughly outlined already, its likely that we should get on swimmingly for at least a few months before hitting any snags.

I think its best to provide some back-ground info:  
I will make every effort to remain cannon complain in all ways **except** the following:  
-Snape lives  
-R/HR fizzles out before it goes anywhere serious.  
-Lupin and Tonks survive also.  
-**Snape and Lily WERE the best of friends as children but any romantic feelings he had for her dissipated over the years and turned into a dark sort of obligation after her death. His patronus retained the image of the doe years later because even though he no longer loved her, she still represented the only truly happy time in his life.**

**DISCLAIMER:**  
All recognizable material is the property of JK Rowling.

Anything new is my own happy little imagination at work.

Not making money. Not stealing. Simply playing.

Thanks for reading!  
And reviews are lovely!

Oh and you all may recognize me from DA. Username is the same.


	2. Chapter 2 - Remembering the Rain

**_In the Light of This Experience_**

_"Stand in the ancient ways, but look also into present experience to see whether in the light of this experience ancient ways are right."_

Francis Bacon

* * *

CHAPTER TWO – Remembering the Rain

_"__How often have I lain beneath rain on a strange roof, thinking of home."  
_― William Faulkner

There was something different in the dull thud produced by the entrance hall doors as they banged shut behind Hermione. They looked as they ever had, but the cleverest spell-damage technician couldn't return the familiar sound to them. A misaligned latch, a rotted plank, something that could only result from years of use was missing.

_No matter,_ she thought. Even in her mind, though, it tasted a lie.

But it wasn't the first time she lied to herself, and it certainly wouldn't be the last.

She stood just within the entrance hall, the massive cast iron encrusted doors towering behind her. Pensively she recalled some of the great number of lies she told over the last year; Notably, her lie to Bellatrix about Gryffindor's sword. That certainly went well for her. Another nervous brush of fingers to forearm and her mind wandered again. Her lie to the Gringotts goblins, clad in Bellatrix's skin came to mind next. She could still smell the rotting dragon's scales.

Her lies to herself proved to be the most damaging though; Everything will be okay. We'll all make it through this. I _love_ him. That last one tasted the worst on her tongue, and it was why she returned to the castle alone.

In the bitterness of wartime, the warm stickiness of the youngest Weasley boy's hand seemed like sunlight and she clung to it – A small comfort when the cold doesn't come from the weather of the world, but from something more sinister.

Two short weeks after the victory and every dream of him that she held close to her heart during those cold nights in the woods seemed to pale compared with what she wanted now. What brought them together, after all, but the necessity of the war effort? The unifying goal of the trio was irrelevant now, and for the life of her she couldn't imagine living out her days listening to a husband and children endlessly discussing sports and what she ought to cook for supper next. She had bigger dreams than that. She felt ready now to take those true, shining dreams down off the shelf in her mind where she stowed them for safekeeping.

So, she'd returned to school, and the boys took their honorary NEWT certificates (she had declined hers) and began exciting jobs hunting the remainder of the fugitive Death Eaters under Kingsley at the Ministry. They shared perfunctory lunches bimonthly and she'd write them as she always had, expecting little from their replies. And she wouldn't miss them. Not really.

It seemed to Hermione that with the safe feeling of those first few months at Hogwarts as a child, loneliness wasn't far behind. She wouldn't miss Harry and Ron specifically, but somehow with their absence she found herself once again in the entrance of this school, totally safe…and totally friendless.

It was with this thought that she was knocked backwards by the enthused embrace of someone wearing a great deal of tartan.

…Perhaps not totally friendless.

* * *

"Hermione Granger, I do declare if you get any thinner you shall simply disappear." Came Professor McGonagall's heavy brogue in her ear. McGonagall took her firmly by the shoulders then, and held her at arms length. "I had selfishly _hoped_ to see you among the students again this year. Goodness knows you could have passed your NEWTs in your fifth year, but _such_ a sight for sore eyes you are, that I couldn't imagine the castle without you, this first year back."

"A year in the wilderness will do that to a person, Professor!" Hermione laughed. "Its lovely to see you as well, I'm so happy to be back."

Both women were slightly misty eyed as they stepped apart.

"Now I shall deny if you say anything of this in front of the other students, but when its just the two of us you must call me Minerva." The older of the pair insisted. "After everything, you know…"

Hermione nodded solemnly. Standing on ceremony seemed cheap somehow, and bonds formed under duress such as they had seen were of thicker stuff than those normally formed between teacher and pupil.

With a new understanding between them, McGonagall took Hermione by an arm and steered her in the direction of the great hall. Just prior to opening the doors to the lively and bustling chamber, she turned to Hermione once more with a pinched look on her face.

"Many have returned this year, Hermione. Some may come as a bit of a shock."

Hermione wasn't sure what to say in response and simply nodded again. She supposed that perhaps more from her year must have returned than she was expecting. Maybe Malfoy… But surely not.

"There is a Fifth table set at the head of the chamber, beneath the Staff table. It has been determined that eighth years will take meals and share chambers together, regardless of house. But all shall be explained after the sorting." McGonagall continued. "You should go and join your classmates now."

"Thank you…Minerva" Hermione gave her professor a slight smile before stepping inside.

* * *

**AN:**

SO apparently I can't wait a whole week to upload when I have written chapters just sitting on my computer, waiting to be read...

Lets say, then, that instead of updating the story weekly, I'll promise to upload AT LEAST weekly, and any more will be a bonus!

Can you all guess who Minerva might be warning hermione about?

I think this may be a bit of a transparent cliff hanger haha

Hope you all enjoyed!

**DISCLAIMER:**  
All recognizable material is the property of JK Rowling.

Anything new is my own happy little imagination at work.

Not making money. Not stealing. Simply playing.

Thanks for reading!  
And reviews are lovely!

Oh and you all may recognize me from DA. Username is the same.


	3. Chapter 3 - Fear of Life

**In the Light of This Experience**

_"__Stand in the ancient ways, but look also into present experience to see whether in the light of this experience ancient ways are right."  
_―Francis Bacon

* * *

CHAPTER THREE - Fear of Life

_"__The fear of death follows from the fear of life. A man who lives fully is prepared to die at any time."  
_― Mark Twain

The warm glow of the thousands of floating candles dazzled Hermione for a moment as she stepped into the familiar hall. Eyes adjusting to the sparkling light, Hermione saw that it had nearly filled already, and she realized how long she must have been dawdling, lost in thought out on the grounds and again in the entrance of the school.

Feeling, for the umpteenth time that evening, like she had when she was eleven, she walked down the center aisle formed between house tables toward the dais upon which the Hogwarts staff took their meals. She gazed at the enchanted ceiling for part of the way, before briefly taking note of the new table ahead, perpendicular to the others. She then looked up to where her mentors sat and perused the faces she found there interestedly, expecting many new ones.

And then she stopped. She stopped walking. She stopped looking. She stopped breathing.

_No_, She thought helplessly, stomach in her throat. _No, surely the universe isn't so cruel as this. _Feeling sick, Hermione's eyes latched again onto the familiar form of a dead man who had surely suffered too much beneath the arched ceilings of this castle to be spirit-bound to it after his death. Surely he had served here long enough. And at the very least, taking the pearlescent white form of a ghost would _surely_ have been repugnant to him!

But the robes were black, still, the edges, clearly defined. There was no hint of the straight-backed chair behind him to be seen through his chest. And his eyes were on her now. And he took a deep, pointed breath as he raised an eyebrow. The narrow chest puffed out more than it needed to. The thin nostrils flared. He was mocking, even now after everything.

Closely resembling dinner plates at this point, Hermione's eyes widened still further and her fine-fingered hand slapped up over her mouth.

He was alive. Severus Snape had survived.

* * *

"Hello, Hermione Granger." Hermione's eyes focused ahead of her automatically and she found herself partway through a reply before registering who, exactly, she was greeting.

She was, in fact, standing toe to toe with Luna Lovegood. And Luna was vaguely smiling in her general direction, eyes slightly averted to somewhere near Hermione's hairline.

"I was somewhat surprised too. But compared to many of the others, your reaction was very dignified…"

Hermione glanced up at Snape once more. His attention was focused intently on some journal or other clenched in a boney hand. She nodded at Luna, still not up for speaking.

"Madam Pomfrey slipped Calming Draughts in the flasks of pumpkin juice, I think. She's always been clever… Poor Neville fainted away in the doorframe before he could have any though, I'm afraid. But he's alright now." Luna had turned her body slightly to the side and pointed with her pinkie finger at the other side of the staff table, "See?"

Pomfrey and Sprout flanked Neville on each side and the two seemed to be thoroughly fussing over him.

"Yes I think he's being taken care of now." Hermione managed, finally. "I think I'll have some of that juice."

Luna had her seated (Hermione's wobbly knees thanked her) and sipping pumpkin juice in short order.

"…Luna?" The gears slowly began working and running again in Hermione's head, and so she did as she always had and asked a question. "Why is Neville up there with the teachers?"

"Well he's apprenticing Professor Sprout, of course!" Luna's hazy grin looked a touch proud as she said so. "I imagine she'll let him start teaching the first and second years by Christmas. He really is rather bright with plants…"

Hermione took a deep breath then, having recovered slightly from her shock and subsequent dosing of Calming Draught (…_motherwort, finely sliced. Passiflora Incarnata, dried and crushed. Indian coleus, 7 whole blooms. Simmer in an infusion of chamomile. Stir 3 times with birch rod, widdershins. Wave wand._) She looked at Luna and found herself to be very pleased to have the slightly odd girl at Hogwarts with her for the year. Perhaps some new friendships would be borne out of mutual liking this year, rather than out of necessity.

"I'm glad you're here, Luna." Hermione said softly.

"How nice…" came the misty reply.

_Well, perhaps _slightly _odd doesn't really cover it, _Hermione thought fondly, as she turned her attention to the rest of the eighth years, seated around the fifth table with her.

Not many of her surviving year mates had returned, it seemed. The temptation of accepting the honorary NEWTs offered to those who contributed to the war effort was evidently very strong in her peers. But the table held a few from each house and Hermione felt slightly more comfortable, even with the presence of Slytherins at the table. She'd nursed the silly fear that she'd be the only returning student for some time before this evening.

She counted eleven not including herself and Luna. Only one other Gryffindor was among them – Parvati Patil. The four Ravenclaws, not including Luna were– Parvati's twin, Padma as well as Terry Boot, Anthony Goldstein and Michael Corner. Three Hufflepuffs – Hanna Abbott, Ernie Macmillian and Susan Bones. And surprisingly, three Slytherins – Blaise Zabini, Theodore Nott and Daphne Greengrass.

She nodded. They would surely lead by example on the front of interhouse unity. The old rivalries seemed frivolous after all the carnage of the last year. Hermione hoped the others at her table agreed. They would be thirteen and together, no matter where they came from. Such a thing was unheard within the walls of Hogwarts since its founding and Hermione thought the notion was long overdue.

Hermione didn't stop to wonder if perhaps they might be fifteen if they hadn't lost Lavender and Dean. Her thoughts were dark enough this night. No need to colour them red.

* * *

The clear chime of a golden teaspoon tapping a crystal water-goblet rang out in the hall and the dull roar of the students' conversations dimmed to a tolerable hum. Hermione turned her attention to Minerva, who stood by the Owlish lectern that Dumbledore had preferred. To one side, Hermione saw for the first time that Remus and Tonks were seated at the staff table as well. This pleased her immensely. Finally, Hermione noticed distractedly that Snape was gone from his seat, before the Headmistress began to address the students.

"Welcome to another year at Hogwarts!" She began. "Now, before we bring the first years in for their sorting, I have a few announcements to make!

"First, lets all warmly welcome the eighth year students back among us and commend them on their dedication to completing their educations _formally_ after their efforts in the triumph against Voldemort!" A shudder went through the hall for a brief moment before the uproarious applause.

"Second, let us all remember the lessons we learned in light of the events of the past several years. We are a family. While Houses may separate us in the classroom, we are all _together_ victorious and must remain so if the days are to stay bright." Murmurs of agreement followed this statement.

"And finally, let us not be wearied by the sorrow of our losses. While our sacrifices will forever be immense in significance, may they not long be heavy on our hearts or our minds. We are Free." Silence.

"Now let us welcome our First years, who will never know such darkness!"

With the thunderous cheers that followed, the doors swung open and clattered violently against the stone walls. In swept Severus Snape, robes billowing, trailed by a small huddle of seemingly traumatized eleven year olds.

Hermione felt a brush of heavy wool as he swept past her and stepped around one side of the fifth table (which left little space for the sorting at the head of the hall.) He produced a miniature stool from a deep pocket and wandlessly, wordlessly _engorgio'd _it to a proper size. With a flourish the sorting hat was summoned and the sorting began. The hall was silent except for the deep vibrations of his unforgettable voice.

* * *

With the sorting complete and the little ones huddled amongst the older students from their respective houses, Minerva rose to her feet once more, this time to address the student body as a whole, the youngest additions included.

"I'm sure we are all thankful to Deputy Headmaster Snape for the prompt efficiency of this year's sorting!" Indeed, the job was done in record time, with a generous helping of sneering disdain on his part, and trembling horror on the part of the children.

"May I begin by introducing this year's staff?

"Returning to their old posts are Deputy Headmaster Snape as Potions Master, Professor Filius Flitwick as Charms teacher, Professor Sprout as Herbology professor…" Hermione raised her eyebrows at that first introduction, but let her thoughts wander for the rest. She knew that any new appointments would be announced last.

"…and may we all welcome Professors Lupin and Lupin-Tonks who will jointly be teaching Defence against the Dark Arts this year!" This was followed by cheers from the older students and obvious curiosity from the younger. Never had a Hogwarts subject been taught collaboratively, outside of a master/apprentice arrangement.

"And finally, selected as this year's Head Boy and Girl, may I introduce Colin Creevey and Ginevra Weasley." Hermione Smiled at this. The pair would do a lovely job. Ginny would be a pillar of strength, commanding and capable of enforcing order, whereas Colin would be approachable and fair.

Minerva went on to describe forbidden locations within the castle and the grounds, and Hermione let her attention wander again, but the staring into space wouldn't last long. She found herself returned to the present moment when a warm hand clasped her shoulder and a sheet of parchment was placed on the smooth tabletop in front of her.

She looked up to see Ginny, who had handed her the finalized copy of her class schedule.

"Maybe we could get butterbeers, sometime?" Ginny seemed genuine, but unsure. And Hermione felt more relief than she expected when she realized that the poorly disguised coolness that the rest of the Weasleys directed at her did not seem to include the youngest girl. She got up and hugged her.

"Yes, Please."

* * *

**AN:**

Unless otherwise noted, I will have made up the potions recipes you guys will find in this fic myself. I will of course enclose my recipes at the end of each chapter.

If anything HAS been derived from Potter Canon, I'll be sure to mention it. But in the case of this Calming Draught, its all my own. PS THESE ARE _NOT_ THINGS I'VE ACTUALLY BREWED OR RECOMMEND INGESTING!

Calming Draught:

As Base:  
1 cup strong infusion of chamomile, using distilled water

Adding:  
2 medium leaves Motherwort, fresh, finely sliced  
1 tsp _Passiflora Incarnata_, dried and crushed  
7 whole blooms Indian Coleus

Other implements:  
1 birch stirring rod  
1 wand

Gently simmer base in any standard metal cauldron, adding remainder of ingredients with left hand, one at a time in listed order. Allow thirty seconds elapsed time between additions. Do not disturb liquid until all ingredients have been added. Proceed to stir three times widdershins. Wave wand and promptly decant liquid, _retaining _any solids.

yield, one vial (approx. 300ml)  
Dose, three drops for a fully-grown adult. Two for a child.  
No severe known reactions to overdose other than persistent somnolence.

Store at room temperature.  
Shelf life - three months.

Also, _Widdershins_ is a pagan term for counterclockwise (clockwise being denoted by the term _Deosil_) Traditionally, one moves Deosil to cast a circle or invoke energies and widdershins to banish. I am not a practitioner of any form of Wicca or Paganism so if any of you are, and I say something inaccurate in my work, PLEASE feel free to correct me. The last thing I want to do is offend anyone in my ignorance.

Each of the herbs/flowers I've included has some effects relating to the calming of ones nerves (eg, decreasing blood pressure). Any of you who are curious may help yourselves to Wikipedia. That's what I did, after all.

Oh, and birch is supposed to have calming properties.

Shoot. I said I wouldn't break cannon beyond what I listed in the first AN, but lets pretend Colin survived.

Thanks again guys, for taking the time to read!

Hope you liked it!

**DISCLAIMER:**  
All recognizable material is the property of JK Rowling.

Anything new is my own happy little imagination at work.

Not making money. Not stealing. Simply playing.

Thanks for reading!  
And reviews are lovely!

Oh and you all may recognize me from DA. Username is the same.


	4. Chapter 4 - Kintsukuroi

In the Light of This Experience

_"__Stand in the ancient ways, but look also into present experience to see whether in the light of this experience ancient ways are right."  
_―Francis Bacon

* * *

CHAPTER FOUR – Kintsukuroi

_"__The world breaks everyone and afterward many are strong in the broken places."  
_―Ernest Hemingway

There is something to be said for a chair that is old enough and well enough used to have moulded itself to the specific form of its owner. This is particularly true when such a chair is placed within the ring of warmth released from the glowing embers of a massive fireplace, and in the shadow of innumerable bookcases. Severus Snape; Potions master, deputy headmaster, ex-villain turned war hero, and now allegedly '_Deceased Hopeless Romantic,_' sat in one such arrangement after yet another welcome feast at Hogwarts, and allowed his spine to become one with the upholstery one more.

Trembling shadows painted deep canyons on his face as he sat, a book dangling precariously, forgotten, from his fingertips. His eyes were glazed as they looked on nothing and he remembered everything.

_Hopeless Romantic indeed_, he spat mentally. The soft brush of new grass and red hair against his forearms and fingertips were faint memories of childhood that were too soon buried beneath hard, unforgiving green eyes. Maybe he had loved her once. More likely he had clung to whomever happened to give him the time of day. Lily did seem to be fond of finding herself in the wrong place at the wrong time. And she had _terrible _taste in friends.

Snape was ashamed to admit, it was more than likely that his child-self would have fixated on the first kindly smile thrown in his general direction, and who she was as a person had little to do with his so called _affections_. Though, he supposed, it helped that hers was so shiningly bright…

_Not at all my style now_, he reasoned. She was garish, _tacky_ even. At least, her memory was. Though he wasn't sure he could trust his mind to conjure an accurate likeness of her now. He'd spent too many years hating that face to fully remember what it was that he'd found so enchanting. _Being responsible for one's childhood friend's untimely death and spending the better part of two decades attempting to atone for one's sins will do that...__And being reminded, time and time again, that the shallow friendship was the only truly happy memory I could think of whenever I conjured a patronus doesn't help_, Snape thought bitterly. _How pathetically maudlin... Maybe _Hopeless Romantic_ is apt after all._

But his debt was paid as completely as it ever would be when the Dark Lord was killed and the brat survived. No more labouring under that_ particular _shadow_. _In fact he very nearly missed ever having to labour under _any _shadow ever again. _Close, but no cigar_.

Unfortunately, as purposeless as he was with the end of the war, his ego proved too rigidly enormous to allow him to die without a fight. And it just so happened that a determined Severus Snape lost very few fights when he applied himself.

As it was, a gradual tolerance to a certain Viper's venom had been built over the years as a precaution, and a select number of potions and herbs (Dittany, Blood Replenishing Potion, Antidotes to common and uncommon poisons, Draught of Living Death, Wiggenweld Potion…) stayed in a satchel within the folds of his robes at all times. It was simple enough really. Be a stubborn enough bastard to tolerate a certain amount of blood loss and pain until the Potter boy and his companions left with his memories. This would then inevitably have to be followed by some extensive self-medication and a long dark wait until the right people found his 'body'.

Leave it to the little lions' sense of nobility to send them scurrying back to the Shrieking Shack as soon as they'd been privy to his memories and the immediate danger had passed. No matter that they had left him to die on the floor not a few hours before. But thankfully Poppy had already collected him and had him settled comfortably (painfully) back in his quarters. Though, notably, not the Headmaster's quarters, but rather his old _and thankfully undisturbed _teacher's quarters in the dungeons. (A quick _Expecto Patronum_ had seen to her prompt arrival, followed by a very effective vow of silence. He'd had no intention of dealing with the public being made aware of his survival until he had to.)

The book in his hand thudded as it hit the parquet floor and jarred him out of his thoughts.

"…_No way to be treating my own volumes," _Snape mumbled, and he cringed when he felt his vertebrae creak back into proper alignment as he bent to retrieve it. Fingers of his free hand curled around an arm of his chair as he pushed himself to his feet, uncurling the slightly too long legs. A young man still, at 38, but _good god_ were his joints ever curmudgeonly.

His knees popped to punctuate that thought as he strode over to one of the shelves and apologetically returned the book to its home.

A chiming ring echoed through his rooms, then, from a passage off to one side of the study (a startled tensing of his shoulders followed but dissipated quickly.) The batch of Wolfsbane he had been brewing over the last few evenings was ready for the next addition. He supposed he wasn't totally purposeless now after all, with the new responsibilities he'd acquired from Arthur. Beside his teaching duties he was in the employ of the ministry now, working to supply the much less repressed Werewolf population.

With Arthur Weasley as new Minister for Magic, their small community was finally beginning to take the shape it ought to have assumed all these years. One step in the right direction, for example, lead to a new legislation ensuring that each werewolf would be registered with the ministry and supplied with the necessary medicinal potions which would allow them to live relatively normal lives for the first time since their birth as a species.

_That does however put into stark relief how few competent potions masters reside in the region_, Snape thought. _The workload of supplying the better part of the entire Werewolf population of wizarding Britain is…trying… to say the least. _

His footsteps echoed through the passage and he approached the private laboratory that lay beyond. There was work to be done.

* * *

Two hours later and Snape found himself in his study once more. This time however his back wouldn't be sinking into soft upholstery, but rather the ridges of his spine would be digging into the hard wood of the straight-backed chair at his desk.

It was high time that he finalize his lesson plans, and while those for years one through seven were more or less the same as they'd always been, the new addition to the Hogwarts student body, inaccurately labeled 'eighth year', would be more difficult to plan for.

Snape supposed that the class was somewhat necessary but he certainly wasn't pleased by the extra work it required.

In short, the 'eighth year' class would be a NEWT preparation year for students whose regular education was interrupted by the war effort. Each student's knowledge would be slightly different based on their own personal abilities, as well as how much of their seventh year curriculum they had achieved (or missed out on) before having to leave the school for whatever war related reason. At the end of the day, they were still covering seventh year material, but each student would be doing so at their own pace based on where their knowledge was at present. In fact, the option had been given to each of the chronological seventh years to join this class as well, but almost every one declined in favour of staying with their friends in their houses. The Lovegood girl was an exception to that rule, but she was an odd one in every other way so it wasn't really surprising.

Snape chose to take a leaf out of his colleagues' book and administer a mock NEWT exam on the first day of classes and determine each student's study plan based on their scores.

He collected his things, then, and tidied his desk before retiring for the night. Tomorrow's class was likely to be a disaster with no one likely to succeed on the practical he'd set for them. _No one_, he conceded, _except perhaps one_.

He allowed a moment's amusement as he remembered Granger's face when she saw him that evening in the Great Hall. _I'd pay money to see that reaction again, _he thought before closing the bedroom door with an authoritative flick of an elegant hand.

* * *

**AN:**

Kintsukuroi – The Japanese art of repairing broken pottery using lacquer resin containing gold, or other precious metals. It speaks to breakage and repair becoming part of the history of an object, rather than something to disguise. The philosophy states that after performing Kintsukuroi, the piece of pottery is, as a result, _more_ beautiful for having been broken. I advise you all to Google-image search it, as it is very beautiful, interesting, and relevant to the character of Professor Snape!

Hope you all enjoyed!

**DISCLAIMER:**  
All recognizable material is the property of JK Rowling.

Anything new is my own happy little imagination at work.

Not making money. Not stealing. Simply playing.

Thanks for reading!  
And reviews are lovely!


	5. Chapter 5: Stringing Minutes Like Pearls

_In the Light of This Experience_

_"__Stand in the ancient ways, but look also into present experience to see whether in the light of this experience ancient ways are right."  
_―Francis Bacon

* * *

CHAPTER FIVE – Stringing Minutes Like Pearls

_"__All we have to decide is what to do with the time that is given us."  
_―J.R.R. Tolkien

The sparse remnants of the sumptuous welcome feast faded from the table in a way that Hermione would never get used to, as the younger students made their way out of the hall in little queues behind their respective house prefects. The Head Boy and Girl held the large doors open and answered any nervous questions that arose from the first years as they passed, and the ruckus that had rattled the walls throughout the meal finally died down. Hermione felt distinctly heavy in her bones and warm in her toes. She knew she would sleep well this night.

Minerva had requested the eighth-years remain after the hall emptied for some specific instructions before they retired for the evening. Just as the last of the staff and students left the hall, the headmistress descended from the dais and sat amongst the eldest students.

"Now, I'm sure you are all as keen on retiring for the evening as I am, so I will be brief. As you may all have guessed, you will no longer be residing in the house dormitories, but in separate accommodations have been arranges for your use this year. Any further details pertaining to your year in particular will be discussed in a small assembly tomorrow morning," Minerva began, nodding here and there as if to simulate punctuation. Her fingers were clasped together, elbows on the tabletop. "Now, if you'll all follow me, I shall show you to your quarters."

After her short speech, Minerva rose from the table. Hermione followed suit, as did the others. She didn't think she was the only one who was pleased about not sharing sleeping arrangements with a bunch of excited eleven and twelve year olds tonight.

Together, the fourteen made their way from the hall and onto the landing of the grand staircase.

"The entrance to your tower is located on the newly renovated third floor," The headmistress announced as they began to climb. Once they reached the appropriate level, Hermione was happy to see that any dusty decrepit statues she remembered from her misadventures on this floor had been relocated. It now resembled much of the rest of the castle, with torches and painting and suits of armour galore.

They finally reached a distinctly new statue at the end of the hall. Hermione stifled a gasp but received an amused raised eyebrow from Minerva nonetheless. The statue, located where the doors once led to Fluffy's hallway and his precious trapdoor, was of a massive Cerberus. A massive Cerberus who of course looked unpleasantly familiar…

"The password is _Simul, Seorsum,_" …and as she said this, the massive, stony, three headed dog rose from where it previously sat and moved a massive paw aside for them to pass beneath him.

* * *

The tower was arranged much as any house tower would be, with a large comfortable living area, leading off to a staircase that branched into dormitories. The only difference, Hermione found, was that on each level ascending the spiral-stair were two doorways, each containing a nameplate. It seemed that their days of co-sleeping were finally over, much to Hermione's immense pleasure.

Still happily slumped under the weight of their food-induced stupor, the group made their silent way up the stairs (thinning by two on each landing) murmuring 'goodnight's as they went. Soon Hermione and Luna found themselves on the uppermost level and quietly stepped in the direction of their respective doorways. Hermione bid her goodnight and heard something like "…That's just what a friend would say!" as she shook her head and entered through the doorway labeled _Hermione Granger._

Too tired to pay much heed to the appearance of the room, other than to realize that her things had been brought up and placed in the middle of the floor (her throbbing big toe was unimpressed) Hermione half undressed before burying herself in her heavy blankets of the thankfully large, soft bed.

* * *

There was birdsong and great beams of light streaming in from the expanse of grand windows off to one side of the room as Hermione Granger awoke to an odd grating whistle. Covers were thrown aside as she hastily (groggily, confusedly) leapt to her feet and looked around.

The room was large, with one long curved wall filled with windows (and the gaps between windows were filled with as-yet empty book cases.) standing opposite the large four-poster bed. To one side, there was a massive fireplace with two cushy looking armchairs and little tables arranged on a plush rug. To the other side, there stood an enormous, expansive desk gleaming in the sunlight (Hermione's mouth watered at the thought of how many lovely new thoughts she was likely to have, seated there). On the desk she found what she was looking for; there was a roll of parchment that appeared to have been charmed to whistle until she read it. So read it she did.

_To all eighth year students, _

_A compulsory meeting regarding your classes will be held this morning (Saturday 3__rd__ of September) in the second floor Study Hall._

_You are expected to arrive promptly at 10:00 am._

_Looking forward to seeing all your _punctual_ faces there soon,_

_Headmistress McGonagall_

Hermione smiled at the clever trick and checked the time (An ornate little French gilt mantel clock was the only other embellishment on the desk.) It was a quarter to eight o'clock, much to Hermione's delight, leaving her plenty of time to shower and enjoy a quiet breakfast before the meeting. She'd unpack most of her things later, so she only pulled out the necessary toiletries and a clean outfit from one of her trunks.

Looking around again, Hermione saw a little doorway between her desk and the wall that stood behind her bed. Thinking (correctly) that this lead to the bathroom, she stepped through, only to find that it was, in fact, the entry to a small antechamber holding shelves on one side and horizontal rods on the other, with another (mirrored) door at the opposite end. Hermione was never one to care much for clothing or her looks in general, but she would be lying if she said she wasn't a little bit excited about having a walk-in closet that lead to her own private bath. _This explains the lack of a wardrobe in the main room_, she thought happily as she stepped though the second door into her bathroom.

* * *

Hermione emerged from the steamy room some thirty minutes later, her hair in a thick plait and feeling deliciously squeaky clean. She'd donned a pair of straight-legged, cobalt blue trousers that she'd rolled up (once, twice, neatly) to just above the jutting ankles. With those, she had on a plain white button up, made of a light Indian cotton (charmed to prevent transparency) with its sleeves rolled up also, just below the elbows this time. She'd tied a light silk scarf with a blue and white paisley pattern around her neck, the knot off to one side, and slipped into a pair of exceptionally supportive and excessively well worn leather slip-on sandals. _It's the beginning of September and I'll not pull out a single knitted jumper until I absolutely must, _Hermione thought fiercely, not looking forward to the long, frosty Scottish winter that would come long before it was welcome. No, she'd enjoy this warm sunshine for as long as it lasts.

Her wand was stuck in her belt holster next, (a clever Christmas gift from Harry, who realized through innumerable complaints from Ginny, that women's clothing didn't typically have nearly sizable enough pockets to safely house a wand.) and her well-loved watch that she'd worn since childhood went on the left wrist as always. It still dangled a bit on the slight appendage and she sighed, for the umpteenth time, lamenting that she'd inherited her pathetically minuscule joints from her father's side. She'd blamed many a sprained ankle on him over the years…_But we mustn't think of him now _Hermione wordlessly instructed. _We mustn't dampen such a lovely morning._

Early still, she made to step out onto the spiral-stair, pocketing her schedule on the way, but thought better of it and turned back to collect her old leather book-bag. As was habit by now, Hermione set to stocking it with a fresh roll of parchment, a good quill (plus an extra, not so good quill stuck behind an ear for good measure) plus ink and other necessary writing accoutrements. She also threw in her novel of the week, and a shrunken copy of _The Standard Book of Spells, Grade 7. _

Feeling ready now, she made her way down to breakfast thinking longingly of the homemade French-toast her mother made for her, growing up, and how the delicious elf-made toast didn't come close, but would have to do.

* * *

Belly now warmly full of the excellent (But not quite like mum's…) Hogwarts breakfast, and a copy of the _Daily Prophet_ under her arm, Hermione slowly made her way from the quiet hall to the grand staircase, and then to the second floor. It seemed, over the past seven years, that the Study Hall enjoyed bouncing around this level, so Hermione allowed time for her usual exploration. Finding the double doors a few corners past where she was expecting them, she arrived, as usual, about ten minutes early.

Hermione sat in a window and shook open her paper, planning to kill five minutes or so before stepping inside the hall. The headline on the front page jumped out just as Hermione Expected:

_SNAPE LIVES!_

_Return of Ex-Death Eater to Hogwarts Staff Table a Shock To All_

_Turn to page seven to see how the magical community reacted to the return of the former Hogwarts Headmaster; Death Eater turned Spy, Severus Tobias Snape._

_Answers to the question of the day; should Snape be teaching our children?_

Hermione banished the paper in disgust before reading any more. The man was acquitted of all criminal charges and grudgingly awarded the Order of Merlin, third class, for his efforts toward their cause. _Anything beyond that is no one's concern, but his_, Hermione thought indignantly. Having experienced her fair share of press coverage (friendly and otthewise), Hermione bristled at the thought of _anyone's _privacy being laid bare the way _Prophet _journalists seemed to insist upon.

Shrugging and entering the hall, Hermione quickly found a seat beside Luna, who must have either risen quite early or quite late, as Hermione hadn't seen her at breakfast. The Slytherin girl, Greengrass, was also present. Hermione smiled in her direction briefly, before turning to her friend.

"Good morning, Luna." Hermione offered as she sat.

"I agree, Hermione..." Came the no longer surprising, unorthodox reply. Hermione shook her head and pulled her various writing implements out of her bag.

It wasn't long before the remainder of their class arrived and Minerva (who had been surveying them since their arrival, seated on the desk at the front of the room in tabby-cat form) quickly changed and addressed the group.

"Good morning, all. As always, I appreciate your punctuality." She looked sharply over her spectacles at the stragglers who just made it as the clock struck ten.

"Now, I'm sure you've all _thoroughl_y reviewed your schedules before you arrived." Even Hermione's ears reddened at that. She had folded it for pocketing and hadn't given it much thought since. _To be fair, I was quite exhausted last night_, she reasoned.

"Now, eighth year classes will be given in three-hour blocks, once a week, with a one-hour mandatory seminar per class, each week. You've all selected your NEWT courses ahead of time, so schedules will vary." McGonagall lectured.

"Three-hour lessons will typically proceed as follows:class should begin with addressing any questions from previous week's material and collecting any assignments. One hour of lecture to follow, as well as a ten-minute break before the second half. The remaining time will usually be devoted to practical application of the new material and ten final minutes are reserved for setting homework."

The large group groaned then, understanding that for many among them, this would be a rigorous and intensive school year. As for Hermione, she couldn't wait. In fact, she pulled out the schedule Ginny had handed her and happily studied it as McGonagall went on about the importance of proper time management.

**Class Timetable**

Monday:

8:30 – 11:30 Charms

13:00 – 15:00 Potions

Tuesday:

8:30 – 11:30 Transfiguration

13:00 – 15:00 Ancient Runes

15:30 – 16:30 Charms Seminar

Wednesday:

8:30 – 11:30 Arithmancy

13:00 – 15:00 Defense Against the Dark Arts

15:30 – 16:30 Potions Seminar

Thursday:

7:00 – 10:00 Herbology

10:30 – 11:30 Transfiguration Seminar

13:00 – 14:00 Defense Against the Dark Arts Seminar

Friday

8:30 – 9:30 Ancient Runes Seminar

10:00 – 11:00 Herbology Seminar

She extracted her wand and duplicated the parchment after a few read throughs. After a moment's thought, she also _engorgio'd_ the parchment slightly and _dispersio'd_ the writing on it to make space for her own additions.

In the mean time, McGonagall informed them all that some classes had responsibilities outside of class hours. "Herbology in particular," she warned "Will require daily tending to your gardens this year. Be sure to schedule your time accordingly. Pomona will surely provide further instruction when the time comes of course. This is just for you all to be aware that even your unscheduled time may be taken up with school work beyond basic review this year."

Hermione scribbled furiously on her enlarged copy of the year's schedule as McGonagall went on to discuss uniforms (unnecessary, but appropriateness was, _as always, _to be expected) as well as the unexpected privileges of being of age as a student at Hogwarts. These privileges included full permission to come and go as they pleased so long as classes were attended. Curfew was also nixed, but their status as _'Role models of the school' _was heavily stressed. McGonagall concluded, telling them, "Positive role-model behaviour for the younger students is to be maintained at _all times_. Eighth years can and will be dismissed from the school at any time if their behaviour is not…proper and befitting of a Hogwarts student."

McGonagall concluded her little sermon just as Hermione added her final notes to her schedule. She read it over proudly, hardly able to wait.

**_Daily _****Timetable**

Monday:

_7:45 – 8:15 Breakfast_

**8:30 – 11:30 Charms**

_11:45 – 12:15 Check Garden_

_12:20 – 12:50 Lunch_

**13:00 – 15:00 Potions**

_16:00 – 17:30 Revision_

Tuesday:

_7:45 – 8:15 Breakfast_

**8:30 – 11:30 Transfiguration**

_11:45 – 12:15 Check Garden_

_12:20 – 12:50 Lunch_

**13:00 – 15:00 Ancient Runes**

**15:30 – 16:30 Charms Seminar**

_17:30 – 18:30 Dinner_

_19:00 – 20:00 Revision_

Wednesday:

_7:45 – 8:15 Breakfast_

**8:30 – 11:30 Arithmancy**

_11:45 – 12:15 Check Garden_

_12:20 – 12:50 Lunch_

**13:00 – 15:00 Defense Against the Dark Arts**

**15:30 – 16:30 Potions Seminar**

_17:30 – 18:30 Dinner_

_19:00 – 20:00 Revision_

Thursday:

**7:00 – 10:00 Herbology**

_10:10 – 10:20 Quick breakfast_

**10:30 – 11:30 Transfiguration Seminar**

_11:45 – 12:45 Long Lunch_

**13:00 – 14:00 Defense Against the Dark Arts Seminar**

_16:00 – 18:00 Revision_

Friday

_7:45 – 8:15 Breakfast_

**8:30 – 9:30 Ancient Runes Seminar **

**10:00 – 11:00 Herbology Seminar**

_Saturday_

_9:00 – 10:00 Long breakfast_

_10:30 – 12:30 Revision_

_12:45 – 1:30 Lunch_

_14:00 – 15:00 Check Garden_

_Sunday_

_9:00 – 10:00 Long breakfast_

_10:30 – 11:30 Check Garden_

Feeling like things were finally coming together, Hermione turned her full attention back to McGonagall, just as the group seemed to have been dismissed.

"Miss granger, a moment, if you would?" Minerva was seated behind her desk when she addressed Hermione. Hermione turned to Luna, who seemed to have lingered, waiting for her.

"Luna, would you mind if I joined you for lunch today? I feel like I've hardly seen you."

Luna seemed foggily pleased and asked, "Why on earth would I mind?" She caught the dismissal, though, and left, skipping out the door.

"Is there something you need, headmistress?" Hermione asked.

"Minerva, please."

"Yes, right, thank you…Minerva."

"Hermione, am I right to assume that you are likely to take advantage of the independent study nature of this eighth year program?"

"…Minerva?"

"Hermione," The headmistress said with a smile. "Do you intend to work your way though the seventh year NEWT curriculum at an accelerated rate?"

Hermione felt her cheeks redden. She had indeed given the matter a great deal of thought. She knew she was capable and more than a little impatient and she told Minerva as much, "Provided that it would be acceptable to the professors, of course. I have no intention of making a nuisance of myself," She added. Her thoughts turned to Snape suddenly. He would surely not be enthused with the notion of working with her exclusively at an accelerated pace. _After all_, she thought with some annoyance, _he can hardly tolerate me when I'm just one face in a crowded classroom. He's not likely to agree to any situation that involves spending any more time with me than necessary._

"Hermione, each professor has been instructed to distribute coursework a month at a time. If you work though this material more quickly, we are, naturally, happy to provide the next package of work ahead of time. I've already convened with the board. They are prepared to allow any eighth year student to sit their NEWTs at any time this year. All you need to do is make an appointment when you are ready." Hermione couldn't help but see the shining pride in her teacher's eyes.

"And, what do you intend for me if I am successful prior to the end of the school year?" Hermione wondered.

"Well, as I see it, you would have two paths before your feet at such a time. You would be free to leave the castle of course, and pursue whatever life you prefer before enrolling in post secondary education. Or, you would remain at the castle for…grooming."

"I'm not sure I grasp your meaning, Minerva. Grooming?"

"You see, Hermione, running a school and teaching simultaneously can be…trying. I would have you remain through to the end of the school year, and then move into apprentice's chambers come summer."

Hermione could hardly believe her ears. "Do you mean to offer me an apprenticeship, Minerva? Do you mean to step aside and _appoint_ _me_ _as transfiguration professor?_"

"You are quick, my dear, as always. That is precisely what I intend. Indeed I believe the notion occurred to me even before you had those teeth of yours shrunk." She said this with her twinkling eyes as close to resembling Dumbledore's as Hermione had ever seen.

Hermione said nothing. Her hands shook. Her smile told Minerva everything she needed to know.

* * *

Eating lunch with Luna after the mind-blowing conversation she'd just had with Minerva was a strange experience indeed. It seemed that she was nearly as distracted as her friend was most of the time, and it made for some unusual talk with the two speaking _at _one another more than _to_ one another. For the life of her, Hermione couldn't remember a single thing the other girl had said to her in the last several minutes.

Apologizing, Hermione left the hall and made her way down to the sunny Hogwarts grounds hoping some quiet fresh air would help her calm the trembling excitement she felt at the notion of _really_ having a future plan for the first time in her life.

She came to a stop near a gnarled tree down where the edge of the forest met the edge of the lake and transfigured herself a blanket from one of the early fallen leaves (_Folium ut Linteum_). It was thin, soft, and retained the rich yellow-orange colour of the leaf. Happy with what would surely make a lovely afternoon seated in the shade listening to the wind on the water and through the trees, Hermione dropped her bag and sat with one leg folded beneath her, and the other outstretched, her back against the trunk. _Yes, _she thought._ This is just what I needed._

Twenty minutes or two hours could have passed with Hermione sitting, just sitting, in total silence before she felt the slightest itch to do something to occupy herself. Indeed, before now it was unlikely that she could have mustered the focus for any pastime of value. As it was, Hermione felt ready now for a proper dose of fiction and pulled her novel (Sylvia Plath's _The Bell Jar_, this week) out of the old book bag.

Hermione looked at the cover for a moment, contemplating. She'd never read it before, for its reputation of being narrated by a character who was…irritatingly maudlin and self-centred. But it was on her mother's shelf and she was feeling nostalgic. _It is a slim volume, after all, _Hermione reasoned.

The primary character, Esther, was in the process of being violently ill when Hermione's attention was distracted from her book. Someone was gliding darkly down from the castle in the direction of the forest. Not a single moment of confusion passed with regard to his identity. _He may not be beautiful, but you can certainly recognize him in an instant._ Hermione wasn't sure where such a thought came from, but come it did.

_What on earth is he still doing here?_ She wondered, not for the first time. _Surely he hates the lot of us. Isn't he free now, to finally live his life as he chooses? _

* * *

**AN:**

WELL, that was certainly a long one!

_-"Simul, Seorsum"_ is Latin for "Together, apart"

-Also, as I'm sure you all guessed, her sandals are Birkenstocks. LOVE them.

-_Folium ut Linteum – Latin, "Leaf to linen"_

ALSO

I hope you're all prepared for LOTS of class time, because that's what's coming in the next few chapters. This is a Hermione-centric fic, after all, and class is what's important to her.

SSHG will be built up to eventually, of course, not to fear, haha!

Hope you all enjoyed!

**DISCLAIMER:**  
All recognizable material is the property of JK Rowling.

Anything new is my own happy little imagination at work.

Not making money. Not stealing. Simply playing.

Thanks for reading!  
And reviews are lovely!


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